The Dream of the Writing Desk
You’ll be happy to hear, I think, that I haven’t had trouble writing recently. Discipline is still difficult to come by (why does that never seem to get easier), but I’ve been spending more time at the page recently. No hints about what, unfortunately. Like I said at the beginning of the year, I’m still trying to practice Elle Nash’s specific brand of superstition and not speak about anything until no one is able to stop it from happening. I think there’s something to be said about keeping anything you're excited about close to the chest, in an attempt to protect it. But I also think it’s important for writing specifically. If you mention to too many people what it is you're working on or what you plan to start working on next, you inevitably start letting other people into the work. You find yourself talking about it before it’s even on the page, and then all of a sudden the writing is shaped by four or five people you maybe don’t know very well and might not have any idea what your work is about. I have a problem with this, so I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I have two readers (thank you, Dalton and Rodrigo) that I really trust with my work. The goal for this year is to focus on sharing my writing with them, not throwing it around for anyone to see.
Anyway, we were talking about discipline, yes?
The thing I always seem to have trouble with when it comes to writing is building a specific space to do so. I’ve always found I am most productive when writing outside of the house, at a coffee shop or any place where I can drink a beer while I work on my laptop (I can scribble in a notebook at any bar, but after a certain point, I need my laptop). This is fine on the weekends if I can get myself out of the house, but during the week, the only real option is to write at home.
The problem is, I have nowhere to write at home.
This is not entirely true, of course. I have a desk, pilfered from my cousin’s house when she was moving and discarding furniture, and I have a chair my parents found. I wrote about this in a past newsletter actually, and it was exciting, because I’ve never really had a place of my own to write. I was using my desk pretty religiously for a while, as my homebase when I was helping students with their college essays over Zoom. But eventually I relocated to the dining room table, because there was more space and I could put my leg up in the chair more easily. To me, the desk I currently have doesn’t feel conducive to a productive workspace. There are too many notebooks stacked everywhere, barely enough space for my laptop, definitely not enough space to stretch out. I feel cramped and it makes it hard to think. The chair is difficult to sit in, unable to allow me to sit with my legs up like a frog (this is my favorite way to think and it’s not nearly as bad for my back as the posture I’m forced to adopt at my day job in an office).
What I really want, what I’ve wanted for a long time, is an old secretary desk. Aside from the space it provides, there’s something about its construction that I find inspiring. I love the idea of the fold up desk spread across my lap, my arms sprawled out and my cheek close to the paper like how I used to write when I was a child, how I still write when a particularly good idea strikes me and I want it on paper before it flies away. I guess what I need is space to sprawl, which I suppose is what I need in every corner of my life.
I do believe that space plays a large part in one’s practice. Hell, there are essays, poems, whole novels written about this very thing, the idea of the creative space. But if I have to choose between feeling held and supported by a space, or not writing at all, I think we all know which one I have to choose. I’ve said before that I worry about waiting until things are just right to begin working. That thought still paralyzes me. It’s unlikely I’ll get my dream secretary desk anytime soon. I’ve seen a few for sale on my favorite auction website, but I never seem to be flush with cash at the right time. So, now comes the time to make due. I would love if my home office made me feel inspired automatically. But unfortunately, it doesn’t. So maybe I start writing in the giant, baby blue nursing chair where I can put my feet up. Maybe I buy a lap desk and take it out to the porch when the weather permits. Maybe I start writing on the floor. Now is the time to use experimenting as an excuse to build a more disciplined practice. I can dream about my desk, but I can’t wait for her. There’s just too much to be done.